The Devil's Dreamcatcher (33 page)

I think back to what Patty said, deep in the labyrinthine library. That the Banshee left to “find herself.” Well, I hope she's about done, because now I'm coming to find
her
.

“I'm ready,” I say. “I want to see The Devil.”

Suddenly I'm crushed between two chests. I don't think
Mitchell and Alfarin coordinated their hugs, but I've become the filling in a devil sandwich.

“You are the most amazing . . . brilliant . . . brave—” stammers Mitchell.

“May the goddess Hlin walk with you, Medusa,” interrupts Alfarin. “She will protect you.”

“Septimus,” I squeak. My voice box is being crushed along with everything else, but once Mitchell and Alfarin step back, I kiss both of them on the cheek.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “For believing in me.”

“Always,” replies Mitchell, tucking my hair behind my ears. I brush my thumb across his bottom lip.

“Crumbs,” I lie.

My thumb continues to tingle as I step away and face the connecting door between the accounting chamber and the Oval Office. It's sparking with blue electric light. I remember worrying about that when I first came up here for my interview. That suddenly seems like a lifetime ago.

The door opens without Septimus's even touching the door handle. The same one that has seared me and Mitchell countless times in recent days with imprints of The Devil.

Don't let me go
.

For some reason I can hear myself saying those words, but my mouth has frozen in terror.

The door closes behind us. Septimus and I are alone in the Oval Office.

“What happens now, Septimus?” My voice is a whisper, but it still echoes in the cavernous space. “Do we press a buzzer? Do we call him? Where's that little old lady who was here earlier?”

“
We
do nothing, Medusa,” replies Septimus. “From here, you go on alone.”

“What?” I cry.

“You asked me to get you in here, and I have done what you requested. I have more trust and belief in you, Medusa, than you
could possibly know. Keep calm and as emotionless as you possibly can. There is a door behind the red drapes opposite. You will have to reach that in order to find the master.”

“Septimus . . . will this work?”

“Death is full of compromises, Medusa. Sacrifice and betrayal. Yet in Team DEVIL I have seen more heart and soul than in one thousand living beings.”

I take a step forward, my eyes drawn like magnets to the red drapes. “Was that a yes?” I wonder aloud.

The door to the accounting chamber slams shut. Septimus is gone.

I'm alone, and the room knows it.

The Oval Office is starting to stretch and distort. The curved walls, covered in the gaudiest of the room's drapery, are trying to confuse me. For every step I take toward the red curtains that Septimus pointed to, they seem to get two further steps away from me.

I suddenly feel as if I'm walking uphill, only the incline is getting steeper and steeper and I'm slipping as the room stretches and contorts itself. I focus on the huge mahogany desk in the center. There is a large gilded throne behind it. It's ostentatious and ridiculous, but it isn't moving. The walls, the ceiling and even the floor are rising and falling in rippling waves, but if the motion were real, the desk and throne would be sliding around, too. This is all fake. It's a security device to disorient intruders. The movement of the room isn't real.

“This isn't real!” I cry.

As if in response, the Oval Office pulls apart like a Slinky being stretched and then pings back to the way it was when Septimus and I entered.

Feeling nauseous, I run across the floor toward the red drapes and pull them back. There's a single door behind them. It's made of gold and has four clouded glass panels set into it, with golden stencils showing The Devil's face.

In the center is a large gilded knocker. It's in the shape of a
woman. Her golden hair is floating around her body, and her hands are joined together. Her arms form a looped piece of metal.

I clasp her hands and bring down her arms. A deep ring echoes through the Oval Office.

Through the glass panels I see a figure approaching. I want to swear, but I can't form the word. My throat feels as if invisible hands are throttling it. There's a pain in the pit of my stomach, and acidic bile is lapping at my tongue.

The door opens. It's The Devil.

He's wearing black pants and a purple quilted jacket. His black goatee is curled into a perfect C. Bottomless black eyes appraise me.

“Medusa Pallister, what a delight,” he says in a high-pitched voice. “Please, come in.”

“I'd . . . I'd rather not,” I reply, peeking over The Devil's shoulder. The room behind him is as black and impenetrable as his eyes. “Could we . . . could we speak out here, Sir? I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition, what fun,” says The Devil, but his voice is cold. My skin erupts into goose bumps. “You're clearly a favorite of Septimus's, you know. I can't remember the last time he brought devils in to see me. . . .”

He trails off, as if thinking. His long index finger curls around his goatee as he looks upward with a pout.

As he does, another figure, dressed all in white, appears behind him. My knees give way when I see her.

The Devil abandons his feigned confusion and claps his hands together with theatrical glee.

“Of course, I remember now!” he exclaims. “The last time Septimus allowed devils into the Oval Office, I came away with quite the prize. Did I not, Elinor?”

“
Elinor!
”

I scream her name and try to run forward, but an invisible force field pushes me back.

“I invited you in and you declined,” says The Devil, and he
makes another theatrical face. This time disapproving. His forehead is creased, his black eyes narrowed. The index finger on his other hand ticks left to right to left like an inverted pendulum. “Tsk, tsk, Medusa. You didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you?”

I'm sprawled on my ass, my hair is everywhere, and my hands are stinging from the blow. Every single ounce of anger I have in my dead body right now is making me want to grab and pull on that ridiculous goatee until tears of blood fill The Devil's eyes. But I remember what Septimus said about trying to remain emotionless.

“I know where Beatrice Morrigan is,” I say in a rush.

It's amazing how those six words have a far greater effect than any physical assault I could wage on The Devil's grotesque face.

“What did you say?” The Devil's face looms up in front of me as he speaks. It's getting bigger and bigger, as if the room is distorting again. Only, the only thing distorting this time is The Devil himself. His thin face, with skin so pale and translucent it reminds me of the ancient parchment in the library, is now so large it's taking over the entire Oval Office. I scream and scramble backward. I fling an arm up to shield my eyes as a blast of intense heat is thrown at my face. I can feel his breath, and it burns.

“
What are you?
” I scream at the monster. “
Stay away from me!
”

“I am your worst nightmare,” growls The Devil, and even with my eyes shut I can see his horrible leering face burning through my eyelids. “You believed that you, a minion among millions of pathetic minions, could enter here and play me for a fool? I indulge Septimus's whims, but you are not worthy to say her name, Medusa Pallister.”

“I know where she is,” I sob. “I can find her. I'll bring . . . I'll bring Beatrice Morrigan back to you.”

“
Stop saying her name!
” screams The Devil. “
Stop it, stop it, stop it.
”

The room is shaking, and my hands feel wet. I squint, not daring to fully open my eyes, and I can see that the entire floor is now deep red and glistening.

Blood. The floor is bleeding. I scramble to my feet and retch as the familiar metallic smell fills the room. Thick red blood like lumpy gravy is oozing out of the center of the room like a volcanic mud pool. It's coming so fast that my sneakers are already covered.

My stomach and chest are in so much pain that I feel as if something is inside me trying to claw its way out. The Devil's face is still grotesquely stretched out across the room. I don't know if he's really expanded like that or this is just a projection of his anger, but his dense black eyes are boring into me, reading my soul like a book.

With a guttural cry I try to expel the pain. I take a step forward, and my sneakers squelch in the bath of blood that is now at calf height.

“Beatrice Morrigan!” I scream. “The original Dreamcatcher. She's in the circles of Hell. The dwelling of the Skin-Walkers . . .”

But now The Devil is wailing, and his cries are biting at my very existence. Stabbing, burning. My dead body, this soul I entered Hell with, is dissolving. Blood is in my mouth. My eyes, my ears, are streaming with it.

Is this what Elinor feels? Is this what The Devil dreams?

Elinor. This is all for Elinor. My best friend. My sister. And then I see and hear it all. Elinor linking arms with me as we cross my old street. Team DEVIL in my mother's kitchen. The gun spinning across the floor. Screams. A gunshot. Mitchell and Alfarin dragging me and Elinor down the alleyway.

Don't let me go. Don't let me go
.

My timeline changed. I dissolved. Me, Medusa Olivia Pallister, who died on the twenty-fifth of June in 1967, was erased from the records of Hell.

“You can't cheat death, Medusa.” The Devil's voice cuts through my visions. “You can buy more time, but you all come back in the end.”

It's December 2, 1967. I'm climbing over the edge of the bridge. She didn't believe me. My mom didn't believe me about Rory
hurting me. She's watching me. Screaming at me to get back in the car. I just want her to believe me. Scaring her like this might be the wake-up call she needs.

But the mist has fingers. It's groping at me. Pulling me.

“
Don't let go!
” screams my mother.

I didn't. But death claimed me anyway.

The room is suddenly quiet, apart from my sobs. “Why are you showing me these things?” I cry.

“Your nightmares are my dreams, Medusa,” sneers The Devil. “You wanted to know.” I look up to find that his face is back to normal—yet somehow more hideous than before.

“I came here for Elinor,” I say, trying to regain control.

“Liar. You wanted to know how you were special. And I have shown you. You are one of the rare dead. One who tried to cheat death. Septimus is one, too. A kindred spirit. But I claim you all in the end.”

“I didn't try to cheat death!” I scream. Then I notice that the door behind The Devil is starting to close. Elinor. I can't lose her now. Not when I'm this close. “My timeline changed, but it was an accident. I remember now! Rory Hunter didn't die in my first timeline, but when he was killed in a paradox, it changed my death.”

“
Postponed
your death,” corrects The Devil. He licks his lips, and I see that his tongue isn't forked, it's black.

“Postponed my death, then. What does it matter? I'm dead. You still got me, and I'm even more messed up than before, because I'll have to exist with these flashbacks of my previous existence forever. Isn't that what you want?”

“So now you know,” says The Devil, tilting his head back in triumph. “Now get out.”

“No.”

“Do you want me to call my guards?” he threatens. “You've seen them before. They were gentle then. You don't get a second chance, Melissa.”

“Is that what she said to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Is that what Beatrice Morrigan said to you? That you don't get a second chance?”

“I ordered you to stop saying her name!”

Time is running out. The door is almost shut. I have to throw everything at The Devil now, including myself.

“I'm telling you, Beatrice Morrigan is somewhere in the nine circles of Hell,” I insist.

“
I know where my wife is!
” screams The Devil. Spit flies from his mouth, and it sizzles where it lands. “I know everything that happens in my domain—everything.”

“Then why didn't you try to get her?” I shout. “Or was it just easier to take children who couldn't fight back?”

“You think you know about love? Foolish child.”

“I know it hurts,” I say. “Love isn't hearts and flowers. It makes you lose control. You stop thinking. Love makes you reactive. When you love someone, you put their happiness first, even if it causes you great pain.”

The Devil slumps against his desk. He steadies himself with one hand, which gently caresses the silver metal of a photo frame that is facing away from me.

“Letting her go caused me pain,” he whispers.

“Yes,” I reply. “She hurt you, but you loved her.” I sense that his mood is shifting, and suddenly I think I might know how to play this after all. “You loved her, and so you didn't go after her. But what if she wanted you to? Your wife could be alone and scared. She might think that you—the most powerful devil here—don't want her. If I were Beatrice, I'd be destroyed. I might be too scared to come back, even if I loved you with everything I had to give.”

The Devil's back straightens. He picks up the photo frame and traces a line across it with his finger.

“I cannot just leave to traipse around the nine circles, searching for my beloved,” he says, his high voice cracking. “There would be a bloodbath of anarchy with me gone from the office. Septimus is my wise second-in-command, but he does not have my skills. . . .”

He trails off, and his black eyes snap from the photo to me.

“You will go in there in my stead. You will find Beatrice. I will give you Elinor Powell back and the four of you—Team DEVIL—will find my wife and bring her back. I will have a second chance, in the same way you had a second chance at death.”